


A Promise to Keep

by eris_of_imladris



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris_of_imladris/pseuds/eris_of_imladris
Summary: Fëanor meets Indis for the first time, and learns the difference between a promise broken and kept.Written for NaNoWriMo 2017.





	A Promise to Keep

“Son, I have something to tell you.” Finwë approached his young son with no small measure of trepidation, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezing. His hands were clammy, and the air in the bedroom suddenly felt tense, heavy with anticipation.

“Yes, Atar?” Fëanor looked up from his book, wiping his ink-smudged fingers on a cloth on the nearby table. In front of him lay the results of hours of study that looked quite impressive to Finwë.

“I wish to introduce you to someone who has become important to me,” Finwë said, sitting down on Fëanor’s bed and slightly rumpling the covers with his long robes.

“Important to you?” Fëanor asked. “Do you mean like a new noble come to court?

“Someone who has come to court for a very specific reason, and who I hope you will treat with the kindness and dignity as befits the son of the High King of the Noldor.”

“Who is it?”

“Her name is Lady Indis, and she has come here to be my new wife,” Finwë said.

A look of shock passed over Fëanor’s face. “You are married,” he replied, his voice shaky.

“Your mother was my wife, yes, although she lives no longer. Her spirit has gone to the Halls of Mandos, and I appealed to the Valar and asked if I could take another wife.”

“Why? Did you never love my mother?” Fëanor’s voice began to rise as tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

“Of course I loved her. Her soul was so beautiful, and I still love her, even after all this time.”

“It has almost been no time at all,” Fëanor replied. “And if she loved me, will you dishonor her sacrifice by replacing her?”

“No one can ever replace her,” Finwë said. “But a man needs a wife, and a king needs a queen, for a variety of reasons.”

“If you need a bed-mate, surely there are others in the kingdom who would oblige - ”

“Fëanor!”

“I meant it - is that all you desire?”

“The lady Indis has many virtues, and is a fine companion.”

Fëanor sighed. “And she has no desire for power whatsoever? She will not take the first opportunity to seize power for herself and for any children she may have?”

“I told her you are my son and heir, Curufinwë, and there is nothing in this world or any other that can change that.”

“There may come a day when it changes,” Fëanor said, his eyes downcast. “Must you, Atar?”

“I have given Lady Indis my word that I will wed her, and it would be dishonorable of an Elda and a king to forsake his word.”

“Did you not give my mother her word that you would take care of her child and love him beyond all else? And was not that vow made first?”

“There is more than enough love in my heart for one child,” Finwë replied. “Get ready, I wish to introduce you to Lady Indis.”

“She is here?” Fëanor asked, surprised.

“She is outside, in the gardens.”

Fëanor was quiet for a moment. “My mother’s gardens?”

“Yes,” Finwë said, and Fëanor tried to picture the body in Lorien’s garden that he knew was his mother up and about, walking through the garden.

“She planted it herself,” Fëanor said, recalling the stories of his mother that he heard from just about everyone in the palace, including his father.

“Should I let the plants die because she is no longer here?” Finwë said. “Your mother would want both of us to move on. She would not want us to live our lives in fear and grief forever.”

“A couple of decades would have been nice,” Fëanor muttered.

If his father heard his words, he ignored them. “Come, Lady Indis is waiting for us,” Finwë said, and reached his hand down. Fëanor took it hesitantly, noting the sweat on his father’s palm as the pair walked towards the garden.

Fëanor knew the path, he had taken it many times before, always encouraged to spend time in the area his mother had lovingly cultivated just as she had lovingly given her strength for his. He was used to the plants, but even after years of spending time in the garden, he continued to find new things to observe, to write about and show his father, who always seemed proud of him. When the two of them were in the gardens together, they almost felt like a complete family, as he could hear his mother in the breeze and smell her in the flowers.

Now, a blonde woman sat on the bench that Fëanor preferred, near the little purple flowers with yellow centers that he had loved most when he was a boy. She ran her fingers over the petals, giving Fëanor enough time to observe her before his father brought him over.

She was blonde, yes, which meant she was not one of his people. She was a Vanya, a lesser sort of Elda, and she looked as if a jewel factory had vomited all over her dress. He had to admit there was some prettiness in her face, a small nose and pert lips and kind blue eyes, but he had no idea why his father had to bring her here, for no other reason than to warm his bed. He could not stomach the thought of any other reason - if his father had stopped loving his mother, perhaps he would be next, and would that leave him in servitude to this Vanya and her children until the end of time?

“Indis,” his father called out, and the woman looked up, a small smile on her face. “This is my son Curufinwë, sometimes known as Fëanáró, my pride and joy,” he introduced, although Fëanor noticed that he had spoken to her first, rather than to him. Was the loss of love already beginning?

“Curufinwë,” she said, falling to her knees. She was tall, and even on her knees, she was close to his height. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“I prefer my mother-name,” Fëanor replied.

“I apologize,” the woman said, and he felt his father’s fingers twitch in his hand, a silent rebuke. Already, he had erred in his father’s eyes. Already, he was losing that thin thread that tied their broken family together.

“I welcome you to court,” he said, the trite lines expected of him in just about every situation.

“Lady Indis, did you know Fëanáró is studying a new form of writing?” Finwë asked after several long moments of awkward silence.

“I did not know,” she said, her voice even and tempered. “What a noble pursuit.”

“It is easy,” Fëanor said, then hastily added, “I enjoy the work, and I hope to be a good prince and king like my father one day.”

“I am sure you will be,” Indis said. It looked like she was about to reach her hand up and touch Fëanor’s hair as a mother would have, but she changed her mind at the last moment, smoothing out her skirt. “I have no doubt you are as noble and valiant as your father, in word and in deed.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Fëanor replied, wondering if his father would make him go through this farce for much longer. There was no purpose to staying here, not when he had set his heart to never accept her. Fëanáró indeed had a spirit of fire, and when he made himself a promise, he would never break it.


End file.
